Chapter V. No Man of Woman Born
V
NO MAN OF WOMAN BORN
JEAN-FRAN?OIS ARCHED ONE eyebrow, looking to the vampire across the water.
“You couldn’t have just done that to begin with?”
Celene tilted her head.
“How? We had only just reached the Charbourg.”
“How convenient, Mlle Castia,” the historian said.
“A more critical reader might say melodramatic. To have arrived not soon enough to stop your brother being beaten and tortured, nor his friends tragically murdered, but yet in time to learn the truth of Voss’s stratagem and save the day? Hurrah and huzzah.”
The siblings glanced at each other across the water, Gabriel’s pulse quickening.
The historian yet glowered at the Liathe.
“Could it be, mademoiselle, that you secretly wanted to learn if Voss’s ritual would work? Could it be you wanted to see your dear brother cursed likesame as you?”
The Last Silversaint looked to the historian and scoffed softly.
“Maybe my wisdom hasn’t been totally w—”
“Oh, fuck off, Gabriel.”
“You demanded the story, and this is it.” Celene lifted her chin, glowering.
“The Iron Maiden abides in the halls above, at your Empress’s own invitation.
If you do not believe me, have her descend to ravage my mind with her bloodgifts and testify that I speak truth.
I could not help that I was late for the finale, Marquis.
The trek across Talhost left us starving, and I had to feast among the dead in Gabriel’s wake if I hoped to stand against the Forever King.
As it was, we were still famished as we entered that cathedral.
But I’d no choice now but to fight at my cursed brother’s side. ”
She glowered at her sibling, black eyes brimming.
“One last dance for old times’ sake.”
“I watched her falling through the dark,” Gabriel said.
“Striking the Forever King’s throat, her bloodblade splitting into pieces.
I heard that marble crack over the hiss of Voss’s curse, the hymn of my own thundering pulse.
My thirst was unleashed now, the monster had its head, but Dior’s holy blood had mended any trace of the beating Voss had given me.
And every vein singing, every drop of me awash in holy flame, I rose back to my feet.
“Patience cried out, voice bright with fear as I marched toward Voss. I could see the terror in my angel’s eyes, my heart sinking as I realized she was afraid.
“Not for me. But for him.
“‘Papa Fabién!’
“‘Patience, stay back!’ I roared.
“‘Stop, you’ll hurt him!’
“‘Do as you’re told, jeune fille!’
“My daughter shrank back into the shadows, afeared for the sire who’d loved her these last few years, but heedful of the father who’d raised her from a cub.
I looked to Dior as I closed on Fabién, still nailed upon that hateful fucking wheel.
Her eyes were open now, heavy-lidded, but she’d lost so much blood.
Looking about, I spied a lone figure hiding behind a broken pillar, yet afeared to leave his master—the cowardly bastard who’d opened Dior’s back up with that cursed silver whip.
“I ran him down as he tried to flee, snapping his neck with my bare hands. And snatching up that silver ten-tail, still wet with Dior’s blood, I turned toward the fray.”
“Voss and I were brawling,” Celene said.
“Across the shattered stone. And though I could feel faintly the hand of my old master guiding mine, I soon realized how much peril I was in.
The Forever King moved like quicksilver, liquid in his grace and power.
And more, though I tried my best to keep him out, my mind was his to plunder.
He could see my blows before they fell. Sneer at my feints before I threw them.
Against a foe who can read your thoughts, there can be no victory. At least, not if you stand alone.
“As children we’d first learned this song. Doing battle together around my papa’s forge. Most children learning to fight will fray against each other, Historian, but my brother and I never did. Instead, we’d stand back-to-back, fighting invisible legions of imaginary foes.
“Ever outnumbered. Never outmatched.”
The Last Silversaint sighed.
“Always Lions.”
“But though not outnumbered,” Celene continued, “we were outmatched here. And even with the bloody whip he’d brought to bear, Gabriel was little help.
The flail was too unwieldy, his reach too short, and though he came close once or twice to striking true, he was soon hurled backward, torn from crotch to neck by Voss’s claws.
“Gabriel cried out as he fell, intestines bulging through the rents in his skin. The Forever King turned back to me, shivering as he licked my brother’s blood from his fingers.
“‘Long shall I savor thy sibling’s end, sanguimancer. But thee, I shall bury swift.’
“He advanced, talons dripping red.
“‘On this very ground I slew the founder of thy cursed cult. How think ye some misbegotten whelp shall stand ’gainst he who laid waste the first Faithless and her dream? ’
“His claws punctured my chest.
“His fingers closed about my dead heart.
“‘Gift fond curses to my master in hell.’
“And over Voss’s shoulder, I saw my brother rise.”
“My guts were ripped wide,” Gabriel said.
“But holding them in with one hand, I’d staggered back to my feet.
I’d lost that cursed flail in my fall, no weapon left save one.
I was terrified as I drew her from my scabbard—the friend who’d walked with me through blood and fire.
Ashdrinker had broken on Voss’s skin when she was hale and whole, and she was neither now.
Her song was brittle, shattered silver; that same tune she’d repeated since my sister broke her, ringing in the hallways of my mind.
“Live esh’nadai dov nem da.
“Four tablespoons of b-b-butter.
“Me they I? We us who?
“Dior’s head hung low, eyes closed once more. The awful slice at her throat had closed now, but she’d been bled near blue, the bowl before her filled with the best of her.
“And into it, I plunged my broken blade.
“Live esh’nadai.
“Four tablespoons.
“Me they I?
“I flew at Voss’s back, but through Celene’s eyes, he saw me coming.
Without so much as a glance, he stepped aside, and I almost felled my sister with the blow.
But he’d been forced to loose his grip at least, Celene’s traitorous heart still in her chest. Voss snaked backward, eyes on my broken blade, dripping with Dior’s blood.
“‘Papa! ’
“‘Stay back, Patience!’
“‘Please don’t hurt him!’
“‘STAY BACK!’
“‘Fool,’ Voss sneered. ‘No man of woman born may slay me.’
“I spat on the ground, advancing on the monster who’d destroyed my world.
“‘I am Gabriel de León,’ I told him. ‘Savior of Nordlund. Sword of the Realm. Liberator of Triúrbaile and Redeemer of Tuuve.’
“I felt my bride slip her arms about my waist then, smooth and cool.
“‘I am the last son of Lorson. A husband widowed. A father grieved. I am all you have made me and more, Fabién. But I am surely no man.’
“I raised my broken blade, tears burning my eyes.
“‘I am a lion.’
“Celene slipped through the dark, bloody blade dripping in her hand as she stole around his flank. Our eyes met, she nodded once, my veins burning bright.
“And together, we charged.
“Fabién Voss was a creature who’d lived a thousand years.
For someone who’d been everywhere, done everything, to feel some new sensation was his deepest desire.
And I could see he’d finally got his wish.
For though his grace was peerless, strength monstrous, ambition boundless, in the depths of those black eyes of his, I could see fear now.
“True fear.
“He tore us both to shreds in his terror. None so afraid of dying as those who live forever. And his dread of hell awaiting was such that even fighting side by side, my sister and I might not have been enough. I couldn’t land my strikes.
Guts clutched in one hand, boots filling up with blood.
But focused as he was on the pair of us, Voss lost sense of his surrounds.
And beside we three and my poor Patience, stood in the wings and begging us to stop hurting each other, there was one last player on that red stage. ”
“Lachance,” Jean-Francois murmured.
“Whipped skinless,” Gabriel declared. “Sliced bloodless. Still, that daughter of the Moonsthrone and Redeemer both opened her eyes. She’d barely anything left inside her, but ever and always, she fought.
And dragging up one last drop of strength from her dauntless heart, she lifted her head, and curled the fingers of her wounded hands. ”
“Her blood trembled,” Celene said. “Congealed about those nails driven through her palms. Long months had we spent training in Dawnseeker’s hold. And though she never truly mastered the bloodblade, there was one arte my friend had made her own.
“Her fingers flashed open, crimson droplets spraying through the air. And as they flew, she narrowed tear-stung eyes, breath hissing through her teeth.
“‘For tomorrow.’
“They formed into needles as they cut the air, gleaming red, razor sharp. Voss felt them coming, saw them in my mind, twisting aside at the last breath. But in the brief moment he watched those blades of blood sail harmlessly by, my brother struck.”
“Ashdrinker felt a feather in my hands,” Gabriel breathed. “Singing silver as she sped toward his heart. Voss caught my wrist, lips twisted in a hateful, triumphant snarl.
“Celene rose up behind him.
“His flesh was weakened—my blackened handprint, the crack from Aaron’s blow, widened further by my sister’s.
And into it now, her teeth sank. Voss gasped, head thrown back, midnight eyes gone wide.
Ashdrinker was poised above his heart, his hand still locked about my wrist. But against the bliss of the Kiss, even Forever’s King had no defense.